


for we are dust with a love that never dies

by Prie



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25029979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prie/pseuds/Prie
Summary: Goro Akechi is content to spend his twilight years with the love of his life, drinking coffee at Leblanc and bickering with each other.Funny, what a single morning can change.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 55
Kudos: 177





	1. the life we were always meant to have

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!  
> Shout out to my beta readers for helping me pick up on all my mistakes.  
> This was inspired by a little conversation that sparked the fire years in the making. This is my first dive into fan fiction after 7 years of not writing any! I hope you enjoy!

_There’s a tiny coffee shop tucked away in the corner of Yongen-Jaya. It’s one of Tokyo’s tiny hole in the wall treasures, with the richest cups of coffees at the cheapest price served by experienced hands that have been serving coffee for the last 60 years. It’s run by a former delinquent, who was gifted the café after its previous owner retired._

“Gifted?” Akira lets out a low chuckle, placing a cup of coffee. “Sojiro must be rolling in his grave. I had to practically beg him to give me the place.” 

The sun was beginning its daily descent from the sky, but Leblanc's customer base had always been stressed out hipster college students and other old people who keep strange hours anyways. The twilight years have treated Akira and Goro well, deep wrinkles in their skin, their hair various shades of grey.

Goro rolls his eyes, but Akira knows how to read his husband. He pushes aside his laptop, the article half-finished on the screen. There’s a banner, with unmistakable Yusuke flourishes, announcing the anniversary event Leblanc was throwing.

“Forgive me for trying to drum up interest for Leblanc’s 70th anniversary.” Goro says dryly, bringing the drink to his lips. As he brings the cup down, he makes a show of clicking his tongue, scrunching his eyebrows into a mock furrow as he assesses the cup. 

“9 out of 10.” Goro loudly announces. Akira smiles at the judgement. He picks up the newspaper he’d put aside to prepare the cup of coffee and opens it up. His regulars chuckle at the scene, used to the couple’s antics. 

“I’ll try harder tomorrow.” He promises, just as he has every morning for the past 30 years. Goro goes back to writing the article, and a comfortable silence falls across the room as the subdued sounds of keys being pressed on the laptop occasionally fills the silence. 

“Kurusu-kun,” Akira looks up from his paper at the old woman in the booth- one of his newer customers, Saya-san, if he remembers correctly. “I was wondering… I see Akechi-kun come in every day and rate your drinks; have you ever made a 10 out of 10 coffee for Akechi-kun?”

The furious typing pauses for a brief moment, before it continues back up without so much as an acknowledgment. Akira laughs, leaning back on the cabinet. 

“No, I’ve never made 10 out of 10 coffee.” He admits, but the look on his face is that of absolute unadulterated fondness as he stares at Goro, who to the untrained eye, seemed uninterested in the conversation. 

“Well, I think your coffee is the best in all of Tokyo, Kurusu-kun.” Saya says confidently, and Goro finally looks up. 

“A 10 out of 10 is a perfect cup of coffee, without any more room to grow past it.” Goro says calmly, a condescending edge to his tone as if this was the easiest thing in the world to understand. “Once Akira makes the perfect cup, he’d never have to make another cup again.” 

Akira gestures at Goro, as if to say _exactly_. She laughs awkwardly, unsure how to feel about Goro’s response. After another moment of peace, she puts down her finished cup as she starts to get up from the booth. Akira slowly rocks onto his feet, moving to clean up the coffee cup. 

“Thank you for coming around, Saya-san.” Akira bows, and he flashes her a charming smile fit for a devilish rogue. She simply tuts. 

“What a lady killer you must have been in your prime.” She scolds him teasingly. “I bet you say that to all your customers.”

“Only the pretty ones.” Akira fires back smoothly, adjusting his glasses in a way that only makes him look more attractive, and they both hear a scoff from behind them. Akira turns to face Goro, his eyes softening. 

“The beautiful ones, I let them drink for free and write fanfiction about the history of Leblanc.” Akira adds on, and if Saya didn’t know any better, she’d have sworn Goro’s ears turned the slightest shade of pink- the nature of their relationship finally dawns on her as she hastily makes her way out the door. 

As she leaves the café, Goro punches Akira in the side, but there’s no heat in it.

“You ass.” He says, and he gently tugs him over. “What do you think?”

Akira looks over the article on Goro’s screen over once, and nods. “Looks good.”

“You haven’t read it.”

“I skimmed.”

“ _Akira_.”

“You wrote it.” Akira places his hand on Goro’s back and leans in to press a kiss to the man’s forehead. “I trust you.”

 _I trust you._ Goro curses himself internally as he feels butterflies in his stomach. It didn’t matter how many years would pass, apparently. Those words would always make him feel like he’s in his 20’s again, unsure if he was worthy of Akira’s love and affection. 

“You want to close up early? You have a doctor visit tomorrow.” Goro quickly changes the topic, whispering so as to not disturb their customers any more than they already have. The intimacy is not lost on their customers however, and there’s discussion that they should leave soon enough.

Akira groans, turning away to start clearing more cups and plates as he wished his last customers safe travel home.

“Akira.”

“I’m perfectly fine. I don’t have to go to the doctor’s just because I have a little creak in my hip.” Goro’s eyes narrow; he closes his laptop with a click. He knows the drill, and Akira senses an argument incoming and he’s prepared to fight tooth and nail. Instead, there’s a feather light touch to his hand, and he snaps up his head to see Goro frowning at him, concern written all over his eyes, wrinkles, loose skin furrowing at his temple.

“Please?” He says quietly, and Akira doesn’t respond, instead squeezing his hand tighter. “I don’t like watching you struggle down the stairs, or when you try to hide your little noises in the morning. You’ve been putting it off long enough.” 

Akira winces. It was true. Getting out of bed was a hassle at times, especially when he was the first to wake up in the mornings and had to get out of bed without groaning or flinching at the shoots of pain that wracked his body. He’d thought he’s hid it well, but evidently not well enough.

“I’m sorry,” Akira brings Goro’s hand to his lips. “We’ll close up early.” 

Goro pouts a little, getting up from his seat to help Akira wash the dishes.

“And I want you to get a chair so you're not on your feet the whole day,” Goro adds on a little while later, standing shoulder to shoulder with Akira. 

“No can do. That’s bad customer service.” 

“ _Akira!_ ”

“Keep saying my name that way, it’s hot,” Akira wags his eyebrows at Goro suggestively, and the former detective flicks water at him in disgust. 

Once the bookkeeping and general cleaning up of both the shop and themselves was done, Goro went back to his laptop, opening it up to see that some reservations had already been made, with some excited comments down below the blog post. Guess some people still want to hear what a washed-up teen detective has to say about things, even after all these years. He tabbed out to his email, where he spots an email from the local precinct. He cracks his knuckles and his neck, letting out a harsh exhale.

“Uh-oh. I know that sigh.” Akira flips the sign from open to closed and turns to nuzzle his husband along his shoulder in one fluid motion. Goro begins to pat at his husband’s hair unconsciously, his once coarse black hair grey under his fingertips, white wisps on top of grey layered over each other like it has been since youth. “Start tomorrow?”

“I don’t know...” Goro hesitates, and Akira puts his hands around Goro’s waist. As Goro skimmed over the contents of the email- another homicide, no biggie- Akira snaps at the waist band of Goro's pants and Goro is acutely aware of his hands sliding lower and lower until Akira’s fingering at his underwear. Goro splutters, leaning back against his husband. “You’re incorrigible.”

“The police department can go one night without hearing what an old fart has to say about a local case.” Goro tilts his head to the side, giving Akira access to his neck, which he quickly peppers with kisses.

“Akira, we’re too old for you to be humping me like a high schooler.” Goro reaches behind himself, taking Akira’s glasses off, the sharp edges of which had been irritating his skin. He gazes into the same kind grey eyes he’s been staring at for eons and pats him gently on the cheek. “You can head up to bed first. We’ll sleep here tonight, since the clinic is closer to here than it is our home. I’ll join you after I finish reading the report, at least.”

Akira lets out a whine that would make Morgana proud, and playfully shakes the chair Goro is sitting in.

“I miss our youth. It’s only 7:30pm and you’re telling me to head to bed already?” Akira puts a dramatic hand over his head, slouches over and on top of Goro. “Has our spark faded with age? Do you shun me now, ready to hide me away so nonchalantly?” 

Goro hisses at his husband’s antics, reaching up to pinch Akira’s nose. Akira yelps, ducking away before it closed in. He pouts, sticking a tongue out at Goro.

“I don’t know why Ann thinks _I’m_ the drama queen.” Goro says dryly, his small smirk ruining the faux annoyance in his voice. “I’ll see you in a bit. Unless you need me to help you up the stairs; I’ll carry you even-”

“Haha, very funny.” Akira leans over to press one last kiss on Goro’s cheek, before he moves to head up to the attic, the once dusty storage room remodelled to provide a roof over two. “You couldn’t carry my fat ancient ass without breaking your dusty old spine.”

Goro catches himself watching his husband move up the stairs slowly, holding short breaths every step Akira conquers. He turns back to his computer once his husband is out of sight, but he’s not focusing on the words. 

He knows, in part, that it’s his fault that Akira’s body was frailer than Goro’s. How unfair, that Goro spent years ruining his body on his own when Akira had friends watching his back that _his_ body was the one that failed him in his old age. Their youthful adventures were a thing of the past, but the interrogation room seemed to have left the longest lasting scar on his lover, as the once well hidden limp graduated to pained hisses when he put too much pressure on the leg. Vague, non lucid memories of an agent snarling at him and blinding pain as he stood on his leg until it almost broke. It’s harder to hide it the older they get, and Goro finds himself in the routine of gently massaging it every morning whenever _he_ wakes up before Akira. 

He remembers that he has to message Futaba to let her know that Leblanc will be closed tomorrow on the account of the doctor’s visit, and he receives a lightning fast response from his sister in law in the form of a thumbs up. 

He then spends the next half hour clicking idly around his computer before he closes it and tucks it under his arm, making his way upstairs. Akira’s already in bed, his features calm and peaceful. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was asleep. He slides into his lover’s arms with practiced precision, head tucked under Akira’s as Akira wraps his arms around him, a comfortable weight around him. 

“Couldn’t wait to join this wrinkly old bastard in bed could you? How scandalous.” Akira’s voice rumbles in his chest. Goro knows Akira’s smirking his handsome smirk, and he feels his heart tighten against his chest. “This reminding you of when we were teenagers?”

“I love you.” Goro says suddenly, under his breath, and Akira quietens, the sounds of their breathing mingling into the silence of the room, the whirring of the fans above them gently fanning his hair. 

“I love you too.” Akira murmurs after a while. Goro felt like he could melt into the fondness, the ache in Akira’s voice. “I love you so much.”

Akira tucks Goro’s long strands of hair behind his ear. Goro had hated how his hair still had patches of brown interspersed with the white and had dyed his hair silver to keep a uniform colour. It had damaged his hair to the point of no return, but when Akira ran his hands through it, Goro couldn’t care less. 

He closes his eyes, squeezed a little closer, and let himself succumb to feather light touches and kisses. 

\---

“-And another thing, the doctor says you’ll need to take this medicine twice a day for your leg. You also have blood thinners-” Akira squeezes Goro’s hand and brings his hand up to kiss it as Goro drones on, letting him know he was paying attention. All this just earns a glare from his husband. “Akira, take this seriously.” 

“I am taking it seriously.” He parrots back, and wraps an arm around Goro’s shoulder. “She also said not to stress out, so I’m not stressing at all.” 

“Honestly, you’re still the same even after all these years.” Goro shakes his head, and brings his attention back to the plastic bag filled with medication. He’d have to sort this out when they’ve reached home. Maybe they should purchase those weekly pill organizer cases, with what to take each day written out beforehand-

“Still the same? Handsome, dashing, charming, a _riot_ in bed?” Akira lists out, and Goro turns his head to peck Akira’s cheek.

“Reckless, annoying and overconfident too,” He teases, but there's no bite in the statement. There hasn’t been in years. Akira lets out an offended gasp, and the two of them burst into giggles, breathless laughter mingling with the warmth of clasped hands and the gentle swaying back and forth bantering. 

“Hey,” Akira says, once the laughter and small talk died down. “I left something in Leblanc, do you think we can go back to grab it?”

“What’d you forget? I remember reminding you to grab your things _–_ ” But at this point Akira has started making a beeline towards his coffee shop. “Hey, you better not open shop for today! I already told Futaba that we’re closing today for you to rest!”

Goro can see Akira’s attempt at trying to outspeed him, and if they were 20 years younger, Akira would have triumphantly stood at the door a few seconds ahead of Goro, head held high, Goro scolding him out of annoyance, a sore loser even to this day.

Now, Akira speed walks with a wobble in his legs, and Goro finds himself holding back from running past him, afraid of what might happen if he goaded Akira into trying to move faster. Now, he’d let his husband, the love of his life, get up to whatever antics his trickster soul wishes to unleash upon the world. 

“If you head in there and make a single cup of coffee, I swear _to god–”_

“SURPRISE!!!” 

Goro startles as Akira turns on the light to reveal their friends, hiding in the booths springing up to greet them with a shout. He takes a moment to assess the phantom thieves, all of them aging gracefully and beautifully, and then the realisation of bright party poppers in their hands, glee written on their faces; and there’s quiet horror on his as he realises what’s about to be unleashed on him. 

“Don’t you _dare_.” He hisses.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” They all cheer loudly, and pop off the streamers at Goro while Goro stares incredulously at Akira.

“You always forget, love.” Akira winks, and Ann, in all her glory, with skin that glows and makes her look 20 years younger than the rest of them, unveils the cake. Goro groans. 

“It’s been over 50 years, you guys.” Sitting before Goro was a pancake themed cake, white chocolate replacing the butter and candles stabbed into it at random; he’s not even sure if it's the right amount of candles in the first place. “Let. It. Go.”

A chorus of various cries of dissent rings through the room, followed by laughter, and Goro crosses his arms, embarrassed.

“It’s butterscotch.” Akira whispers, and Goro hesitantly side eyes the cake. 

Maybe one slice.

\----

The next few hours were spent in a haze of reminiscing and catching up. Goro jabs his fork into his cake, almost completely destroyed at this point by Ann and Ryuji’s haphazard stabbing. He’s lazily tucked underneath Akira’s arm, slouching backwards into the seat as he watches the gang interact with their usual loud-mouth proclivities, made worse with the inclusion of alcohol. Even as the years mellowed them all out, the spirit of the former phantom thieves remained the same. 

Ryuji talks about the kids he coaches, lavishing praise upon a star athlete he thinks- no wait, he KNOWS is gonna make it big. Similarly, Ann talks about her modeling agency and how bratty new talents are. There's mockery, there’s playful jabs.

Haru talks about retired life, and Makoto chimes in every so often. She’s leaning her head atop Haru’s, whose once fluffy light brown hair was now tied up in a bun with streaks running alongside the brown. Goro briefly wonders how come Haru could pull it off, and he couldn’t, but he holds his tongue. It’s no longer out of guilt as it had been for at least two decades, but because Makoto’s shooting glares at him, and ‘ _it's a sore spot, don’t talk about it,’_ is strongly implied. 

Goro turns his head to watch Futaba and Yusuke… be Futaba and Yusuke. Both are as quirky and passionate as ever, old age has yet to mellow either of them out. Yusuke is showing off art pieces he’s displaying in his exhibition, excitedly explaining the meaning behind each piece in detail- and Futaba jabs back at him, making up more and more ludicrous interpretations of Yusuke’s art.

Morgana is nuzzled on Ann’s lap, asleep and seemingly unaware of the ruckus around him. Akira tells the group about how Morgana is holding up, leaving out his troublesome behaviour as of late. Akira and Goro had spent a late night discussing worried theories, speculation behind Morgana’s sleep patterns that ultimately led to nowhere but terse silences and worried gazes. That night, Akira had plopped Morgana between them and the both of them had wished fervently for him till sleep claimed them too. 

And of course, Akira. He’s seated in the innermost part of the booth, listening attentively to their friends, occasionally offering up snide comments and his quick wit. In moments like this, Goro can’t help but realise how timeless Akira is, from his dazzling smile and easy, lazy posture. He’s a constant, stable force, capable of sweeping everyone into his storm and stealing Goro’s breath as easily as he brews a cup of coffee. 

Goro yawns and smacks his lips together as he nuzzles closer into Akira’s side as though he could disappear into him, and Akira pulls him in back in response, as if he believed it too. He buries his head in Akira’s side, inhaling the comforting scent of coffee that has lingered on Akira as long as Goro's known him.

“Grandpa’s tired, you guys.” Goro can hear Akira’s lilting tone address the party, and the group laughs at him, before quietly agreeing that it’s getting late. Goro creaks open his eyes to wave a tired goodbye to the party as they depart, and Akira gently nudges at Goro. 

“I can’t carry you to bed anymore, y'know.” Akira murmurs into Goro’s ear, and with a little protest, Goro holds Akira’s hand as their lead up to the attic.

“We’re supposed to be heading back home,” Goro mumbles as Akira leaves his side, and Goro grasps at the air tiredly trying to latch back onto Akira. This earns him a snicker from his amused husband, and soon the soft tunes of music carries over the air when Akira steps back into Goro’s space. “I haven’t organised your medicine for you yet.”

Goro feels Akira’s chin resting on his head, and the two begin to sway back and forth. There’s no real rhythm to their dance, what with Goro half asleep and lying against Akira’s chest. It’s pleasant and easy, and there’s no place Goro would rather be than here, safe and sound. 

  
“You can do that tomorrow.” Akira twirls Goro around, and Goro’s clumsy feet and drowsy state proves a deadly combo as his body slams against Akira’s and the both of them stumble backwards. Before Goro can react, Akira’s airy laughter quickly extinguishes any panic in Goro as fast as it came in. 

“I was gonna give you your gift tonight, but maybe it can wait till tomorrow.” He says teasingly, gently swiping his calloused hands, wrinkled and spotted across Goro’s face.

“You can give it to me now.” Goro complains sleepily, and Akira scrunches his face at him in a way that had made Goro’s heart skip a beat in his youth and he leans in for a kiss. It’s not as frantic as it was when they were teenagers, as fleeting as when they were young adults, as competitive as when they were adults. It’s reassuring, like making a promise on your lips, getting drunker on the atmosphere as their loose hands wrap around each other. 

“What did you wish for, Goro? When you blew out your candles.” Akira breathes against him, both hands cupping his face and holding him as if nothing else matters. 

“I don’t have anything to wish for,” There’s unmitigated honesty in Goro’s words, not hidden behind sarcasm and deflection as it often is, thawing in the warmth of Akira’s arms and the tugs of sleep. “I already have you.”

Akira’s breath catches, and Goro finds that he's trying to kiss the life out of him in the next moment. He sighs contentedly against the sin that is Akira’s mouth. 

“So sappy.” Akira says it so quietly when they part, Goro almost didn’t hear it.

And then, they dance the night away.

\----

The sun peeks out from holes in the curtains covering Leblanc’s window, and Goro wakes up to an empty bed. He doesn’t remember what happened last night, past the dancing, but he rolls over to Akira’s side of the bed, buries his heads into the sheets, and he’s content to forget and fall back asleep.

As sleep begins to claim him again, the sudden sound of something crashing down downstairs startles him awake, and Goro feels a chill go down his spine. He sits up from bed, suddenly painfully aware of how silent the world is and he raises his voice, trying to keep the creeping shake from entering his voice.

“Akira?”

\----

There’s no response.

\----


	2. the life we were always going to lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is pain, and there's just creeping numbness. 
> 
> Somehow, Goro feels both creeping up his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light descriptions of a panic attack. 
> 
> Enjoy.

There’s a giant hole forming under her, something she couldn’t have foreseen; something that changes a night from fun to one looked back onto with regret and what ifs.

That’s how Futaba Sakura feels when she receives a text message sent into the group chat from Goro at 7am in the morning.

_Akira collapsed._

There’s static in her ears as the chat explodes soon after that, but Futaba’s never got out of bed so fast in her life. She’s quickly pulling herself out of bed and getting herself dressed, a thousand thoughts running through her head.

He was so normal yesterday. What happened? She was just laughing and having fun with him. _What happened?_

It was a normal ping, that text; something she presumed was an apology message from Goro for falling asleep at his own birthday party. Not something that felt so _wrong._

In less than half an hour, she’s flagged a taxi, and when the driver asks her where to, she’s startled out of the haze of thoughts to realise she hasn’t asked Goro any follow up questions.

_We’re at Yongen-Jaya Daiichi Hospital._

_Hospital._ Futaba’s lips tremble as she tells the driver to drive to the _hospital._ She spends the next few minutes looking up possible explanations to why Akira would collapse from the symptoms her brother has complained to her about, before closing it and squeezing her eyes shut to stop the panic from overwhelming her. 

She realizes for the first time in years she’s having a panic attack, and she tries to remember the breathing technique Akira taught her to ground herself.

“I’m in a cab.” She mutters under her breath and relaxes her closed fists, letting her hands tremble. “I’m in a cab. American song on the radio. Traffic light. Cute dog.” 

Futaba continues to label the things she can see around the car and out the window, and she can feel herself calm down a little.

But then the car stops, and she’s outside the hospital, and the panic comes pouring back into her. She reaches into her purse and slaps money into the driver’s hand (she’s not even sure how much she owes him _–_ it's not important right now) and she’s clumsily pushing open the cab door and walking in through the hospital doors. 

In medical dramas, the afflicted’s loved ones make a mad dash to the counter, where they’ll scream at the staff to tell them where they are, and the staff will respond just as urgently _–_ but Futaba simply looks down at her phone and privately texts Goro; _Where?_

_In surgery. Come to the 5th floor._

And she’s in the elevator, heading up to her brother. She’s never understood the idea of hospitals being synonymous with places where people die, because people don’t go to the hospital to die. They go there to get better. 

But she walks up to Goro, hunched over, expression unreadable, head in his hands looking older than he already is, she understands the thought. She takes her seat next to him and wraps her arms around him as they wait. 

\------

_Goro’s hair is braided beautifully, held up by the braids into a small ponytail. He’s resisting the urge to mess up his hair again, but he only doesn’t because he thinks Ann’s gonna fight him if she has to touch it up for him again._

_“Akechi, you’re gonna be fine,” Ann reassured him for the 7th time that morning. “You could be wearing a trash bag over your suit and Akira would still be drooling all over you.”_

_“I know that.” He shot her an evil eye, but he fidgeted with his arms anyway, and finally settled to tuck his hands under his arms._

_“Having second thoughts?” Ann teased, and Goro snapped his head so fast to face her that some strands of his hair went free. Ann let out a cry at her work being dashed again, and smacked him on the arm._

_“Of course not! I’ve never been more sure of something in my life.” He said firmly, and then he mumbled an apology for ruining his hair again._

_They went through the motions again as Ann helped to readjust his hair, and Goro was still in his seat. Ann recognised the expression on his face, one where he was thinking about something a little too hard._

_“..I’m sure, but… do you think Akira would be happier, if he’d marry someone else instead?” He’d said it so softly that he was sure Ann didn’t catch it; but suddenly she yanked his hair back, and Goro yelped in pain. He turned to look at her with a scowl, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw how angry she looked._

_“Say that shit again, I dare you!” She hissed, his best man stomping her feet. “I’ve never seen Akira look so happy around anyone else but you, so you better not be dumb about this!”_

_Goro stared up at her in dumbfounded silence, until she flicked him on the forehead; and promptly regretted it. “Aah!! Why did I do that! Your foundation!”_

_“...You’re right. I’m being silly.” Goro watched as she frantically evened out the foundation, and gave her a genuine smile. “Thank you.”_

_She smiled back, and the two exchanged small talk for the duration of the final touch ups. 15 minutes later, Futaba came into the room, a large grin on her face. “Akira’s best man at your service, coming to pick up the groom to be!”_

_Goro followed his soon-to-be sister in law out of the room, and soon enough, he’s standing before the door, Makoto standing by his side, prepared to walk him down the aisle. His anxiety was building back up again, in spite of Makoto’s amused jabs. But then the trumpets played._

_As the doors opened, all eyes turned to look at him, but the only eyes Goro was looking at at the moment were kind, grey eyes that made him feel like he was the only person in the room, and Goro let go of the anxiety as he took his first steps towards a lifetime with the love of his life._

_\---_

It was a fall, he has to explain, has to guess. Akira had woken up before him and he’s not sure what happened beyond a loud crash. Akechi had rushed down the stairs to find him behind the counter, splayed out on the ground, various coffee containers containing rare beans crashed into pieces beside him.

There were more questions fired at him after that, but Goro hadn’t been able to hear any of it over the high pitch whine in his ears as he watched his husband have glass brushed away from his hair and his limp body carried and put out on a stretcher. 

_Oh,_ A distant part of his brain sparks as he sat across Akira in the ambulance, and he pulled out his phone on autopilot, _I should tell the others._

The next few hours are a blur, as Futaba arrives at some point, and she’s the one doing all the talking for him. In between floor-opening-up-underneath-him numbness and ache, he briefly notes how Futaba’s taken the lead, as she answers questions about Akira’s medical history and administrative stuff, and he feels stunningly useless. 

“Are you Kurusu san’s partner, ma’am?” A nurse asks Futaba, and he finally looks up for the first time in two hours. The question startles Futaba, who stares at her, eyebrows creased behind her thick frames. He swallows, and realises how dry his throat is. 

“I am.” He hates how crackly his voice is, and Futaba and the nurse jump at the sound. It’s the first words he’s said since he’s arrived, and Futaba fidgets in her shoes. “Can… Can I see him now?”

He hates how weak he sounds. He’s cursing himself in his brain. _How pathetic is this?_ He’s trying to hold in hysterical laughter, Akira’s not around to chase it away, god, he’s so weak to need his husband for this _–_ and only when Futaba’s places her hand on his back does he realise there are crescent shaped marks in his.

“Ah… before that.. The doctor wants to speak to you about your options.” The nurse says hesitantly, and Goro’s fighting every urge to leap out of his seat. Options? _Options?_ What does he need options for? 

Instead, he nods his head, and follows after her with Futaba close behind.

The doctor's office is welcoming, money trees and little trinkets that betray a less professional side to the doctor sits on the desk. The doctor's qualifications hang on the wall, but Goro fixates his eyes on the little bobblehead cat on the desk, swaying back and forth.

The doctor opens with some empty pleasantries, and Goro echoes them back hollowly. He’s refusing to make eye contact with the bearer of bad news, like a petulant child instead of a weak old man.

A Stroke, he explains.

A laugh bubbles from his throat before he can stop it, and Futaba squeezes his hand again; though this time it seems more for her than it is for him.

That can’t be right. They were just at the doctors yesterday. They would have caught this. _They would have caught this._

“There’s no easy way to put this, Akechi-san, I’m sorry.” And Goro can feel his cheeks flushing, suddenly wishing that he’d taken Akira's name when Akira asked, or if Akira’d taken _his._ It’d been sentimentality for his mother's name when he said no, but now it just felt like it was another blockade, another way in which they were apart. 

“The clot… was in a bad spot.” The doctor continues, the pity in his voice gives another Goro another wave of nausea, and he can feel his legs turning to jelly in the sterilized seat. “The carotid arteries that bring oxygen to his brain were very badly damaged, which is most likely what led to Kurusu-san passing out. I understand he was given blood thinners, just yesterday?”

“Yes… Yes, he was.” The medicine. The pill organizer boxes. Once a day, don’t double up. Medical calendar app on his phone he’d just download. Vague flashes of the previous night, a half distracted reminder for Akira to take his pills. _Too late, too late. If I pushed harder, we wouldn't be here._ The doctor scribbles something onto his notes, and then his pen falters. 

“There’s no other way to say this, but Kurusu-san might never wake up.” He says this in the voice of a medical professional, calmly, carefully. He must have to break news like this to unsuspecting families everyday. Even though Futaba is sitting next to him, the sob that comes out her mouth sounds distant, and Goro has never felt so detached, so emotionally stunted in so long.

“There is a slim chance, of course, that Kurusu-san might wake, come to consciousness. But his body will be irreversibly damaged. Paralysis, difficulty eating, memory loss. Right now, he’s…” The doctor pauses; he must be taking in how Goro and Futaba must look, because there’s pity on his face all over again. It makes bile at the back of his throat, and he swallows it back down.

“He’s what?” There’s a quiver in Goro’s voice, like he’s trying to keep the taut line of his emotions from snapping and losing control.

“He’s currently on life support. He can’t breathe on his own.” He finishes, and he takes his glasses into his hands, and begins to fidget. “It might be under you and your family’s consideration, whether or not to pull the plug, when it comes down to it.”

The silence in the room is deafening. It’s not like Leblanc's silence, comforting and warm, like coming home. It’s cold and bleak, like someone’s holding Goro’s head underwater, unable to come up for air. The doctor clicks his pen.

“Take your time. You have a few days to consider your options.” He says quietly, standing up and placing a hand on Futaba’s shoulder, who’s barely containing her sobs in her hands, tears falling freely from her eyes. When the doctor gently ushers them out of his office, Goro reaches up to touch his own face, and realises it’s dry, the only thing stopping him from laughing out again out of desperation is Futaba, arm clinging to his side and crying her eyes out. 

_Take your time._ What a joke. The nurse from before approaches the both of them before either one of them could break the silence, and she offers a sympathetic smile. 

“You can go see him now.”

\---

_“Hey, I bet you that I can finish the Big Bang Burger challenge,” Akira grinned at Goro, the expression on his face could be construed as horror and intrigue._

_“You cannot.” He said dryly. Akira had come pick him up from work and the two of them were talking about nothing on the way back home. He remembered how giddy he felt at the time, and also how scared he was when they’d agreed to move in together._

_“I can!” Goro was about to protest some more, when Akira grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the store. The next thing Goro knew, Akira had a massive burger in front of him, and he was grinning his typical shiteating grin._

_“I used to eat this in high school all the time.” He announced confidently, and Goro scoffed, crossing his arms in disbelief. “If I hadn’t lost my old captain badge, I would’ve been eating the Cosmic Tokyo Burger right now.”_

_“Even if that were true, you’re 35 now. You’re gonna make yourself sick.” He said sourly, watching in amusement as the waitress blew the whistle, and with it Akira began shoving the burger into his mouth. “This is hard to watch.”_

_But sure enough, 30 minutes later, Akira let out a victorious burp, as he raised his closed fist upwards into the sky– or at least, into the non descript LED lights above them. Goro had stopped watching 10 minutes in, putting down the book he began reading when Akira had gotten through a quarter of his burger._

_“Fallen even more in love with me yet?” He waggled his eyebrows at Goro, sesame seeds and grease still stuck to his mouth._

_“Of course. I’m now hopelessly and irredeemably in love with you now.” He had said with a deadpan expression, barely suppressing the fondness in his voice. “I wasn’t half an hour ago, but I definitely am now.”_

_Akira just grinned at Goro, accepting the second mate pin from the waitress. Goro rolled his eyes, and leaned over the table to wipe at his partner’s mouth._

_As they moved to get up and leave, Akira suddenly lurched forward, and Goro’s amused expression turned to concern for a brief moment, before he realised Akira was grabbing his stomach._

_“Goro, carry me, I can’t move anymore.” He whined, tugging on Goro’s sleeve. He scoffed, flicking a piece of lint at Akira’s face._

_“I told you so, you idiot.”_

_\----_

Goro has no idea why that memory springs to his head as he sits beside his husband’s bed, looking at him without really seeing. The only sound in the room is the steady beep of the heart monitor, and the respirator working overtime to pump life into his lungs. Futaba sits silently on one of the visitor chairs, half texting the group the details of what’s happened to Akira and the doctors ultimatum, half watching Goro. If Goro were more aware of the room, he’d have noticed the eyes on the back of his head, but instead he’s slipped his hand into Akira’s, tracing circles on the back of his hand. His head is resting on the bed beside him, facing him, careful not to lie on something important.

The two haven’t spoken a word in almost an hour, and the sun was beginning to set behind them, casting an orange hue into the room that has been growing dimmer as time passes. What is there to say? What could they say? _It was so normal yesterday._ The tapping on her phone stops, and she finally looks at Goro full on.

“We can wait a few days.” She finally says. Goro doesn’t respond, but his thumb stops, and Futaba tries again. “We don’t have to decide right now-”

“He once said he’d pull the moon out of the sky for me.” He cuts in, and Futaba’s heart aches at how defeated Goro sounds right off the bat. “How romantic right? What an idiot.”

He trails off, a small forced smile on his face as he turns to face Futaba. 

“So I told him to bring me the moon.” Goro says, his eyes looking down at the ground. He doesn’t even know why he’s telling this story. “He just nodded all serious like, disappeared for a full day after that. When he came back in the evening, he’d brought me these beautiful silver crescent moon shaped earrings.”

“That sounds nice.” Futaba plays with her featherman bangle, an old gift from Akira that she’s worn so much over the years the metallic plate has turned dull and scratched. “He always knows how to give gifts.” 

“He does.” Goro agrees, turning to look away from Futaba to look at his husband, and his shoulders slump a little. He carefully tucks back his hair to show his ear, unpierced. “But I don’t have the piercings for it, so I couldn’t wear them. And he told me to put them aside until I could wear them. That... ‘the moon itself would be willing to wait to hang from me instead of the sky.’”

He lets out a little laugh at the memory; it almost turns into a sob as he holds himself together. Futaba realises how lonely Goro seems now, not standing alongside Akira; no longer attached by the hip as they have been for the last 40 years.

“I lost them, Futaba.” She couldn’t see Goro’s expression, but she clutched her phone closer to her chest at the pain in his voice. “I didn’t keep them properly, and I lost them.” 

Her phone is pinging, buzzing in her hand, but she just puts it on silent mode as she awaits Goro’s next words with bated breath. His hand falls to his sides again. He gently leans over Akira and brushes his calloused hands against Akira’s face, carefully pulling at wrinkles and moving the hair away from his forehead.

“Call the others,” He says faintly, and presses a kiss to Akira’s forehead. “Tell them to come say their goodbyes.”

\------

_“Goro, this is a five star restaurant.”_

_“Yes, and?”_

_“You said we weren't gonna be doing anything fancy for our anniversary.” Akira said with a blank look on his face, looking noticeably out of place in the air conditioned, expensive looking restaurant wearing flip flops and washed out jeans._

_“Not my fault you dress like trash even at 40.” Goro’s hair is pushed back, and he’s dressed in a semi-formal dark blue suit that highlighted his figure. He walked into Akira’s personal space, buttoning up the casual dress shirt Akira had thrown on as a jacket. He gave Akira a quick peck on the nose, and let out a huff of laughter. “Hopefully they’ll let you in inspite of your fashion choices.”_

_Akira hooked his arm around Goro’s, and headed to the valet. The man in question gave them a once over, and stared at Akira with disinterest._

_“Do you have a reservation?” He said with a hint of disgust in his voice. Goro laughed his best posh laugh, and moved to shake the valet’s hand._

_“Yes we do, under Akechi, 7pm?” The valet shook it, and without looking at his list of guests, he nodded at the couple._

_“Very well, our server will show you to your table.” Goro smiled pleasantly at the valet, and followed the server to their table._

_“How much did you slip him?” Akira asked, leaning over to rest his head on his husband’s shoulder to whisper._

_“Don’t worry about it.”_

_“Hm.” Goro pulled a chair up for him, and Akira graciously accepted. He looked around the small squared table. He raised his eyebrow at the fancy napkin, with flowers and vines delicately etched into the soft fabric, placed on his lap by the servers._

_“You have to order the food before you make a reservation here, so we’re all set until the food comes.” Goro reaches over from his side of the table to lace their fingers together. Akira smiled, a little subdued, and Goro frowned._

_“What’s wrong?” He asked, and Akira twizzled a piece of his hair between his fingers._

_“People are staring at us.” He stated matter of factly, slouching over the table. Goro narrowed his eyes._

_“So what? Screw them.” Akira startled at the curse that slipped past Goro’s lips, and there’s a giant smile on his face as he sat back up. Goro blushes and squeezes Akira’s hand. “It’s our night. When have you ever cared how people look at you?”_

_“I guess I never have.” He agreed, and the smile is plastered on his face the whole night._

_\----_

The group quietly shuffles into the room one by one, all of them giving heartfelt speeches towards Akira’s motionless form. Goro sits in the room for every single one, but he’s tuned out, gently fingering the wedding band around his finger. The words weren’t meant for him, anyway. Even Morgana is awake, and Futaba drops him carefully atop Akira to say farewell. Soon, he’s left alone in the room, and it’s his turn to say his goodbyes.

The group is subdued, sharing anecdotes with each other about Akira back out in the hall. Ann turns back to look through the hospital wing’s door as Goro hovers over Akira’s body, and her well manicured fingers are grasping tightly at her handbag. 

“...Do you think we could convince Akechi to hold off on pulling the plug?” She says softly, looking at the group hopelessly. “We were all having fun just yesterday. And it hasn’t even been a few hours since the accident…”

Before any of them could say anything, Morgana sits up in the lap bag that was placed on Futaba’s lap, and addresses the group. 

“Stop it.” Morgana snaps at them, and they suddenly find it hard to keep eye contact with the black cat with wisps of white hair along his body betraying his age. “If Akechi doesn’t do it, he’d just be prolonging Akira's and his own suffering.”

“You honestly think Akira would be okay with that? Having to be dependent on people the rest of his life for everything even if he wakes up?” Morgana lies back down in the bag, eyes drooping. “Or Akechi, having to take care of Akira in that state? Let’s just remember him as he wants to be remembered; the fearless leader of the phantom thieves, even after all these years.”

The group goes into a hushed silence after that. Akira’s nurse walks up to them.

“It’s time.” 

\----

_They were lying breathlessly ontop of each other, Goro’s head lying lazily on the crook of Akira’s neck. Akira was braiding Goro’s splayed out hair into loose braids, all the while humming a soft tune under his breath. There are blankets layered over them, covering their modesty._

_“Are you okay? Do you need me to massage your leg?” Goro asked, tilting his head upward to look for any signs of discomfort in his partner. Akira shook his head, and pressed a gentle kiss to Goro’s forehead._

_“No, no. I’m okay.” He then smiled at Goro, put his hands over his head, and winked at his husband. “Look at us, huh? Two old farts, still going at it even after all these years.”_

_“Guess you really do love me.” He blew a raspberry into his hairline, and Goro sleepily swiped his head away, a grossed out noise escaping his throat._

_“Of course I do.” Goro carefully extracted himself from the tangle of limbs, making sure to avoid resting his weight on any of Akira’s known areas of grievances, and crashed back down onto his side of the bed. “Was this your birthday gift, you horny old attic trash?”_

_Akira looked like he wanted to point out, like he has for a good portion of their relationship, that since Goro's married him, he’s attic trash too, but thinks against it as he shook his head, and there was fondness written across his face. He’s been looking at Goro that way for more than 50 years, like he’s still the most beautiful person he’s ever laid his eyes on._

_“No, no. Your gift is back at our apartment.” Akira carefully brushed Goros hair to the side, making sure for Goro that he wouldn’t wake up with tangled hair. “You’re always so impatient when you’re tired.”_

_Goro didn’t respond, instead choosing to make noises that hopefully conveyed his displeasure at Akira being able to read him like a book. Akira wheezed at the display, and pressed another kiss to his forehead._

_“Let’s call it a day and sleep, love. I’ll see you in the morning.”_

_\---_

The group crowds around Goro, whose head is bowed against Akira’s, noiseless, yet filled with heartache. The nurse stands at the side, patiently waiting to be called upon.

Goro finally straightens back up. He turns to look at his friends, who are standing alongside him. Their postures are restrained and sad, and he nods in acknowledgement, hoping that was enough of an indicator of _thanks for being here_.

He faces the nurse and makes eye contact with her. _We're ready_ waiting on his tongue; before he inexplicably chokes on the words, and he can feel his knees about to give way under him. Instead, a loud wail escapes his lips instead. Goro clasps his trembling hands around his mouth, pressing hard against his skin, pushing back the nausea. Immediately, the group is reaching out for him, arms wrapping around him, holding him up to stop him from collapsing, and Goro’s mouth is open in a silent scream, trying to fill his weighed down lungs with air. 

They’re openly crying, offering _Its okay’_ s _,_ and _I’ve got you, man,_ and Goro can feel the cold seeping through his body as he leans his head forward, and he reaches down into the depths of his soul to retrieve the mask he hasn’t touched in decades. His breathing begins to even out as he stares at Akira, and the phantom thieves pull back; but they're holding onto Goro regardless. He wishes he could say Akira looks like he’s sleeping, like he looks younger in his sleep; but he looks like he’s dying, like death is crawling up his skin with tubes and needles and machines hooked up to him.

“I can’t believe I have to kill you again.” He whispers to Akira, and when he motions the nurse over to begin, he slips his mask back on.

\-----

Akira Kurusu flatlines, and Goro Akechi does not shed a single tear.

\----


	3. the life we were always going to look back on and smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goro wishes it'll stop, but it'll just keep hitting him, over and over again, like the sea, threatening to drown him.

Goro’s sitting in front of his laptop, replying to the email he’d neglected for the past few days. He’s throwing himself into it, completely focused.

There’s a quiet clink on the table, and Goro finally looks up to see a fresh cup of coffee, sitting on the table. He sighs, and he turns to face the cup, a wry smile on his face as he looks at his husband, leaning back against the counter with his own cup of coffee at his lips.

“What’s today’s rating?” He asks, voice low and smooth, and Goro goes through his typical performance. When he puts the cup down, he tilts his head at his husband. 

“10 out of 10.” He whispers, and Akira smiles, shaking his head. He puts his own cup on the table and crosses his arms.

“Going soft on me; suspicious.” Akira says it like a statement rather than a question, and he takes his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt. “Did you do something wrong?”

“No,” Goro shakes his head, laughing a little, eyes flickering to the side as he drinks a little more. “It’s just a really good cup of coffee.” 

“I see.”

There’s a comfortable silence echoing throughout Leblanc, as Goro finishes his cup. He could stay like this, he thinks.

“Do you want to go to market later?” Goro breaks the quiet to ask. “There’s a sale on beef tendons today. I could make stew for us when we get home.”

“Yeah,” Akira says, a smile on his face. “That sounds nice.”

The silence drags on and it warps into something uncomfortable and Goro suddenly feels queasy; claustrophobic even. Goro’s hands tighten on the cup.

“This isn’t real,” he asks quietly. Akira’s smile warps into a pained expression. “Is it?”

“I’m sorry.” Akira says softly. Goro lowers his head and puts the cup back down on the table. “I’m sorry I left.”

Goro shakes his head and leans forward over the counter, a hand outstretched and reaching for Akira’s hand. Akira gives it, but it feels like nothing but tv static in his grip.

“It’s okay. It’s fine. Just let me pretend for a little while longer.” Goro murmurs, and Akira nods. Akira leans in to brush a kiss on Goro’s head.

“Okay.”

But Goro jolts awake at the moment of contact anyway, breath catching in his throat and he’s staring up at Leblanc’s ceiling. He pushes whatever unspeakable emotions he’s feeling back down, and gets up to prepare for the final day of the wake. 

  
  


\---

The wake is a small one. 

Akira had the kind of energy that drew others to him, made them feel like they could tell him anything. It made them think they knew him, even though he’d never really reveal anything about himself. Goro isn’t surprised when so many people turned up, old college friends and customers alike. He’s not sure how many ‘sorry for your losses’ he sits through, because after a while, it blends together. 

He thinks back to the matsugo-no-mizu they’d perform on Akira, as part of the after death rites. The nurse had removed the machines hooked up to Akira’s body, taken his oxygen mask off, and left the room soon after out of respect. Right now, Goro’s fingers felt as numb as it did when he brushed the water against Akira’s lips. 

Not everyone can come back from the dead twice, he supposes. 

His friends are watching him, he can feel their eyes boring into the back of his head every time someone approaches him at their table of friends to offer condolences. 

They can all see how gaunt Goro’s face is, eyebags dark and heavy, his hair tied up loosely in a bun to hide, however poorly, how greasy it is. 

Here they are, stuck in a silence so thick it’s oppressive. It feels like the whole group is walking by eggshells around him, and he’s all too aware of it. He remembers the same expressions on their faces when he’d excuse himself from the group to head back to Leblanc, a part of his brain realising how easy it is to put his walls back up again. 

The clean up of the coffee beans and glass shards on the ground, coffee blends tainted and ruined with ants, is a blur. He just remembers crawling back into their bed, pressing his face into Akira’s side of the bed, inhaling his husband's fading scent, and falling into fitful sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, he’d gone through the motions, mind hazy and sluggish. He stepped down the stairs and instinctively reached for where Akira would put his morning coffee; Instead, his hands reach at nothing, and so the clarity and numbness shot back up like a shield. 

The ceremony itself is a haze of chants and prayers and it all feels a hundred miles away, but he moves on autopilot, afraid of what might happen if he stops. 

Then the ceremony is over, Goro watches his husband burn, and suddenly, Goro’s holding onto the urn containing his husband’s ashes. It's too fast, it’s too cold and light in his hands. It doesn't feel solid enough, under his fingers. Doesn’t feel like playful mockery and giggles, tangled limbs strewn across the bed or kisses that linger on the skin.

“It weighs so little.” Goro says aloud, surrounded by family and friends, yet feels so alone. “I was struggling to even get him out of bed for his doctor's appointment that day, and he weighs so little now.”

“Akechi…” He’s not sure who calls out to him, concern thick on their lips, and he remembers where he is. He turns to give them all a pleasant smile, while tucking the urn closer to his chest.

“Would you all mind if I could be alone for a few days? I need some time, I think, to clear his things, and to decide what to do with his ashes.” He bows to them, but before he can turn to leave, a hand is gripping on his shoulder with purpose.

“Absolutely not.” Ryuji’s adamant tone catches him off guard. “Akira was our family too. I’ll understand if you don’t want everyone there, but I ain’t about to let you go at this alone.”

The group looks expectantly at him, and he realises that this was a group decision. Goro desperately wants the air to refill his lungs, to reject them. _He chooses how he wants to grieve,_ he wants to shout, but Ryuji’s gaze is unfaltering and stubborn, but he finds himself nodding before he can stop himself.

“Great.” Ryuji puts his arm on Goro’s back, and pushes the stunned man forward, to the direction of their apartment. “Akira borrowed my limited edition manga from me 10 years ago, so I’ll grab that while we’re at it.”

Akira, borrowing something and forgetting to return it? Unlikely. Goro remembers the dusty DVDs in the corner of their closet, a collection of movies he’d borrowed ages ago from the Shibuya video rental shop and lost sight of until they’d moved in together. He had tried to return it 30 years late, but the store had closed, and felt guilty when his attempts to find the original owner of the store failed. Goro laughs a fake laugh, not at all sounding convinced. “Sure. Sounds like him.”

\-----

Goro’s running out of ways to ignore the way the energy keeps rushing out his body, leaving him cold and exhausted every single time. He turns his light on in their apartment; _his_ apartment now, and Ryuji’s presence is the only thing that’s stopping him from breaking down the moment he crosses the threshold.

Historically, Goro and Ryuji have never been close. Even back during all the world ending drama that was their teens, Their interactions rested solely on Akira, lest they became jabbing games that went too far. Even after all these years, their relationship never went beyond the occasional question asked through Akira about how the other was doing. 

Their apartment is clean and immaculate, the result of two clean freaks living together under one roof, with an organisation chart pasted on the fridge and weekly chores written down meticulously, maintained by Goro. Ryuji let out a low whistle, sitting down on the chair by the door and removing his shoes.

“Everytime I see this place, I forget how nice it is.” Ryuji admires aloud, giving the whole place a once over. His eyes fall on something on something just past Goro, and he follows his gaze to see-

Their chess game. 

Goro’s heart constricts within his chest. He puts the urn onto the table beside him, and he walks over to the table. His legs felt like lead. 

“...Who was winning?” Ryuji asks, after Goro hadn’t moved for a few seconds. Goro gently runs a finger along the wood of the chess board. 

“He was.” He replies, and reaches for the Akira’s knight, moving it from its place on the board then letting it hover over his king. “He was one move away from winning, before we called it a night.” 

One move away from evening their score after playing catch up for the past 3 years. Ryuji contemplates this for a second, before he shuffles over to the table, and plops his ass onto Goro’s chair. 

“Alright. Let’s play a game.” Ryuji demands, and Goro laughs a little at the declaration, broken out of his reverie, a bemused smile on his face.

“You want to get trashed so badly, Sakamoto?” He says, a sly edge to his tone, and this feels familiar; it hits him that it's the first interaction in the past few days that hasn’t made him feel ill or sick to the bone.

“Hey, cut me some slack!” Ryuji slaps his knee, cheeky smile on his face. “A bad knee gives an old coach like me plenty of time to sit around and think.”

Goro huffs, then his body is moving, moving the pieces back to the start position. He sits opposite Ryuji, and crosses his arms.

“White or black?” He asks, Ryuji considers for a little bit. 

“White.” He announces after some thought, and Goro smirks at him, spinning the chess board accordingly.

They spend the next hour playing the game, and Goro can’t help but be impressed by Ryuji, his crass playing style having some strategy underneath seemingly reckless moves that manage to take some of Goro’s pieces. But Goro’s been playing for longer and he sees through Ryuji’s bluffs and plays. Soon enough, he fully traps Ryuji behind several pieces.

“Careful, you’re gonna hurt yourself thinking so much.” Goro says lightly, head resting on his hand, a habit he had unconsciously picked up whenever he was sure he was going to win. “Check.” 

Ryuji lets out a frustrated growl, ruffling his hair. “You’ve totally got me pegged, man! No matter how I move, I’m gonna lose!” 

Ryuji settles on using his pawn to take Goro’s rook at the very least, giving Goro an open path to the king. Goro sits back, the rush from the victory plastering a smile on his face. This is good. He can almost pretend-

“I never understood why you and Akira liked this dumb game so much. You guys got so insufferable about it every time, whether you won or lost.” 

Goro’s insides twist a little at that, and his smile falls a little. He picks up his king piece from the board, rolling it around in his hand.

“Akira insisted on always playing black when we played, even though it gave him a slight disadvantage. Said it meant more if he won that way.” He clutches the piece tight in his hand, preparing to stand up to continue with his post funeral duties.“And I have to admit that it did indeed irritate me more after he explained his reasoning. He would have evened the score the last time we played, had we continued.” 

“But didn’t he?” Ryuji asks, face blank as he looks up at Goro, and Goro tilts his head in confusion. “ _You_ played black this round.”

Goro’s half out of his seat and he stills at the comment. Then a giggle slips past his lips, he turns back to Ryuji, hoping his face isn’t betraying the complicated feelings he feels bubbling under his surface.

“What an interesting thought.”

\------

“Are you really gonna use that photo of Akira for his shrine?” Ryuji points out later that night, the shrine fully set up, and Goro frowns, looking at the photo once over again. The photo Goro had picked had been Akira’s passport photo. His face is neutral, and his glasses had to be taken off because his lenses had reflected light back at the camera. “It’s so… not him.”

In all Goro’s haste to throw together the wake and be done with it, he hadn’t thought much about it, but it was true. 

“You’re right.” Goro finally says, as he puts the photo frame down.

“Ah, but it’s probably hard to go out and print a photo of him yeah? It’s getting pretty late.” Ryuji sighs, biting his lip in irritation. Goro simply shakes his head, however, and moves towards the bedroom.

“Not necessarily.” Goro thinks for a second, and he starts to move toward the unassuming door in the corner of the house without waiting for Ryuji’s response. He opens it, revealing a storage room, tucked at the side are stacks and stacks of photos albums.

“I didn’t take you guys for the type to keep these kinds of things!” Ryuji excitedly picks up the closest book, a small blue book with a felt cover, and wipes off the thin layer of dust atop it. He sits down on the ground, Goro sits down after him.

Goro can understand the disbelief. He remembers the irritation he had felt when Akira insisted on a family photo album. _It’s expensive, and we’ll never look at them ever,_ he had argued. But Akira did not budge, and throughout their time together, Goro would occasionally find him hunched over these albums, pictures neatly laid out on his side he carefully organized them into albums.

“Guess finding a picture for his altar will be easy, given how many of these there are.” Ryuji flips through the book, and there are pictures of Akira in his youth. Goro scoffs at a photo of Akira, stylishly dressed, foot propped up against a motorbike. He has a helmet in his hands as though he’d just taken it off, piercing eyes staring directly at the camera. He remembers that frantic call Ann made to their home, begging for Akira to help fill in for a model. He remembers how amazed Akira was that the photographer had made him look so good. Goro had wanted to tell him he always looked good. He didn't in the end, and he feels a slight pang at the thought. He didn’t even know that the photo was here; he'd never even once touched them.

“I bet he’d like it if we used this photo.” Goro says, smiling at the thought, and Ryuji snorts.

“What a pretty boy.” He teases, but they continue to flip through the book. There’s a few photos here and there, typical local newspaper cut outs, all of them yellowed by time. 

Around the middle of the book there are pictures and pictures of baby Akira, and Goro feels a shiver up his spine. Unlike himself, Akira had many photos of his childhood, back before his parents started having marital issues. In all of them, Akira’s eyes are so bright and hopeful, a childish innocence that in later years grew sharper and more confident. Goro knew that Akira had a rather strained relationship with his parents, late night talks revealing secrets and stories from the typically tight lipped man. When they’d gotten married, Akira hadn’t even told his parents, and they only found out two years later, on an impromptu visit. Akira had contacted his parents at some point later on to get these photos, because he had come home one day with a cheesy grin on his face as he showed Goro these photos.

Goro never did understand why he went through the hassle; and never will he supposes. Goro points at one, a seven year old Akira with his front tooth missing. There are some scuffs on his elbows, his hair is messy and wild, but he has a huge ear to ear grin on his triumphant face.

“Akira told me that this photo was taken after he’d fallen from a tree. He was trying to reach a bird’s nest to give it the apple slices his mom forced onto him. Lost his two front teeth when he crashed on the ground.” Goro reminisces. There’s a quiet click of a camera, and he looks up to see Ryuji tapping on his phone.

“What are you doing?” Ryuji grins, and shows the picture of the group chat to Goro. 

“Sendin’ it to the old gang,” He explains, and Goro can see Futaba’s excited emoji speak into the chat as the group cooed at the photos. At Goro’s confused expression, Ryuji mirrors it, lowering his phone. “I always thought you knew, but Akira never told us about his childhood. This is comedy gold! Our leader, finding loopholes, even as a fetus.”

There's a smile on Goro’s face, but his insides are churning. They reach the end of the book, and Goro pulls out the next one.

And the next one.

And the next one.

And his stomach doesn’t stop doing flip flops.

They’re all photos of Goro, every single one. Taken throughout the decades. They’re mundane, day-to-day moments, lovingly preserved screenshots in time. Most of these photos were taken without knowledge, pictures of Goro in the hum-drum of life, and captioned with little comments. There’s a photo of Goro in bed, back to the camera. A photo of him tucking his hair behind his ear while he takes sips of coffee. A day at the beach Goro can’t remember, his hoodie up as he fans himself, the beginnings of worry lines forming in his face as he looks past the camera at something in the distance. 

“H-Hey, let’s look at something else.” Ryuji stammers, when Goro hovers over a picture of himself smiling directly at the camera, presumably at something Akira’s said, eyes squeezed shut in laughter. The caption underneath it is written in Akira’s perfect penmanship.

_I hope I’ll always get to see this honest smile._

He reaches behind Goro, presumably to take out more photo books, suddenly there’s a sound of things clattering and thumping on the ground, quiet curses mingling into the cacophony. Goro comes back to himself, as he scowls at Ryuji when he looks at the absolute mess Ryuji’s made.

“S-Sorry. The book was too heavy, and my hand slipped…!” Ryuji apologises, but Goro spots something in the corner, previously hidden by the stack of photo books that have fallen over. He doesn’t know what compels him to reach for it, but he does. He slowly pulls out a shoebox, unlabeled and slightly crumpled from being pressed up against the books.

“What is that?” Ryuji asks, curiosity piqued, but Goro is a thousand miles away as he removes the lid.

Immediately, he loses sensation in his limbs aside from the one clutching the box like his life depends on it. The lid falls from his grip, dropping soundlessly onto the carpeted ground.

He realises he’s trembling, he puts the box onto the ground, and hugs his arm tighter to his body. He thinks he’s about to throw up.

“It’s all here.” He murmurs, eyes widening in disbelief. “He kept it all.”

The bowties from their wedding, colours washed out with time.

The second mate pin from Big Bang Burger, a corner of it chipped off. 

A faded napkin, sophisticated designs and all.

Goro's glove.

Various knick knacks. Cherished memories of key moments of their relationship and the small ones. Goro can hardly breathe. A billiard ball from one of their countless games. Mistletoe from a harmless prank Futaba pulled; a cheesy mixtape Akira put together that Goro thought was ridiculous; _it’s all here._

_“Akira, do we really need photo albums?”_

_“Yes, we do.”_

_“They’re just gonna be sitting in the corner, collecting dust!”_

_“I’m counting on it.”_

Akechi Goro was strong. 

He did not cry, when his husband was dying in front of him.

He did not cry, when the doctors offered the ultimatum.

He did not cry, when he pulled the plug, said his prayers, held his ashes. 

_Goro Akechi does not cry,_

There are two simple earrings, crescent moons with intricate detailing into the silver. Polished, and well maintained.

A strangled wail breaks free from his throat, and he sways forward. The only thing that stops him from hitting his head to the ground is Ryuji, his arms jerking forward to catch him. 

The box clatters to the ground as he shoves his hands into his face, and he screams a heart wrenching, anguished scream. 

“I’m glad _–_ I’m glad it was him _–_ the one that left first.” Goro gasps out, tears hot against his eyes. “Because this hurts so much _–_ it hurts so much and I couldn’t do this to him _–_ ”

Ryuji stays uncharacteristically silent, using his arms to hold Goro upright as the man wept, days and days worth of tears pouring freely from him, there’s snot dripping from his nose and onto Ryuji’s arm, but Ryuji sits there, steadfast against the tide that was Goro’s pain and shock that washed over him, slamming into him in waves. 

“When does this stop hurting?” Goro leans against Ryuji, hands still pressed against his eyes, and his lips are quivering, teeth chattering. “I want it to stop hurting. I thought if I ignored it _–_ I thought _–_ ” 

“Don’t run away from your feelings.” Ryuji says, and he gives Goro’s shoulder a grounding squeeze. “Let them out.”

And he does. 

\----

Ryuji leaves the apartment half an hour before the last train, once Goro finally convinced him he was okay _–_ or at least okay enough to be left alone for the night. 

His eyes are puffed up,nose red throughout the burning of joss sticks and subsequent prayers. He hasn't felt better in days. 

He’s finally left alone to his own thoughts, but for the first time, his head is clear. He takes a shower and after getting dressed he shuffles over to the drawers by their bed, carefully pulling out Akira’s clothes and folding them neatly to place inside a bag to give to the second-hand clothes store. At the very bottom of the drawer, there’s a black box, resting atop a tape recorder. He doesn’t remember this being there.

Without thinking much about it, he sits on the bed, and presses play. 

_Happy Birthday, Goro._

Goro stills at the voice. It’s Akira’s, rich and warm, slightly crackly with old age.

_I hope you’re listening to this while I’m in the shower like I asked you to, so that you won’t yell at me for spending so much money on your gift. Which, by the way, you can open now._

There’s a pause in the tape, and Goro uses the chance to open the box, his breath hitches at the sight of two beautiful rings, shaped like a black feather and a white feather respectively, meant to curl around his finger.

_Ta-Dah! They’re nice, aren’t they? One’s for me, and one’s for you. I saw them at the jewelry store, and I thought of you. I figured it was high time we replaced our dusty old rings. Because when I look at you, I don’t just see a 60 year old promise I made. I see the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. One I'd like to serve 9 out of 10 coffee to for the rest of my life. I’ve never seen anyone that takes my breath away the same way you do. I’m proud to have spent my life with you, through thick and thin. So I want to make a new promise to you._

There's another pause in the tape, as though Akira is building up the courage to say the next few words. Goro finds himself holding his breath, anxious to hear it.

_I’ll love you for the rest of my days, and I’ll do better by myself, so you worry less about me. I hope I never have to see you cry over me again. I’m expecting a kiss for all of this, by the way, when I’m out of the shower._

Akira laughs, and the sound is so sweet, so melancholic.

_I love you._

Goro laughs, tears prickling in his eyes again. He lies back on the bed, shielding his eyes with his arm. 

“You idiot.” He whispers under his breath into the room. “You fool, you bastard. I love you too.”

\----

The final picture they had settled on was a local news clipping article about Leblanc; Akira’s head is tilted downwards, his hair tousled and messy, pouring a cup of coffee behind the counter with a serene look on his face.

And sitting just in front of it is a single ring sitting atop Goro's glove; one half of a pair, two halves of a whole, just as they were. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The next morning, Goro brings him in his arms, visits their favourite spot by the beach, and gives him a proper goodbye.

  
  
  
  


\---

  
  


[ _Flesh of my Flesh, Bone of my Bone_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LY7WrgPnwH4)

[ _Like a story you’ve always known_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LY7WrgPnwH4)

[ _You took my breath in the daylight_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LY7WrgPnwH4)

[ _You stole my heart like a thief in the night._ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LY7WrgPnwH4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! Silver is one of the hardest to maintain metals, needing regular polishing to keep shiny and well maintained! :)
> 
> Thank you for reading this fic! Drop a comment and a kudos and let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> :3c


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